


Stormy Weather

by romangold



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD symptoms, Panic Attacks, Phobias, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, as always, pat is a literal angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 01:24:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18840775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romangold/pseuds/romangold
Summary: Some bad weather and worse memories leave the Captain in a touchy situation. Luckily, there's always someone there for him.





	Stormy Weather

_Can't go on_  
_All I have in life is gone_  
_Stormy weather_  
_Since my man and I ain't together_  
_Keeps rainin' all the time_  
_Keeps rainin' all the time...._

It was a terribly ridiculous position he found himself in. Simply embarrassing, to be frank, especially due to the lack of rationale he had to defend himself, should anyone happen upon him.

The Captain had his arms wound tight around his legs, and kept them folded up against his chest from where he had crawled underneath one of the old desks in the library, forgotten against a dusty wall. He had squeezed into conditions much worse in the past, but his own comfort was not of any importance at the moment. It was an issue of–

A horrible white flash flickered into the room from the window, followed by the loyal thunder that accompanied it.

The Captain gasped and clenched his eyes shut, clutching his legs so fiercely that his white-knuckled hands shook. He figured that perhaps they were shaking, anyway, and hated the truth so much that he cursed out loud when the noise faded out.

He could not recall a time when he had acted so cowardly before– not in any recent memory, at the very least. Decades ago, he couldn’t have waited another second to be marched onto a plane and sent off to win back Europe.

Another flash of lightning. The thunder was louder this time around. Much closer.

Now, air raid siren or no, that same Captain could be found trembling underneath your standard writing desk, short of breath, waiting for the building to quake in its foundations and collapse around him.

“No,” he whispered (he was very nearly panting now), “no, this is only a storm. No need to hide, you absolute berk. Let’s quit this nonsense right now.”

He couldn’t will himself to move an inch.

The Captain could remember, through the terror of a particularly sharp crack of thunder, finding himself in the same position as a young boy. He had been somewhat small during his earlier years, when his hair was chestnut brown and he wore knickerbockers; small enough for the other boys to practice their blows on. Small enough to hide in cramped places with a split lip and scuffed shoes.

It hadn’t helped that he had been in possession of a stammer, to boot. It had been quite embarrassing for his family, he remembered, and incited derision from his peers at school. It had been impossible to expect any sort of conversation with his father until after he had bested the blasted thing, and though he had practiced every day with his mother, the calming little lines she had helped him repeat for hours had flown from his memory.

 _I would prefer for that to return than to have anyone walk through before the storm blows over,_ the Captain thought to himself. He had at least, eventually, obtained full control over his speech. Mother Nature herself was another matter altogether. Nothing could stop a storm before it was ready to pass.

He made a silent effort to move, hoping that his own self-beratements would calm his nerves and inspire his limbs to crawl back out from underneath his shameful hiding spot.

_This is positively absurd. Move. Just move. Let’s be done with all of this nonsense. There’s nothing at all to be afraid of._

“Mind if I join you?”

The Captain was so startled that his head nearly went through the underside of the table. Heart hammering properly, he turned to find Pat kneeling on the floor beside the desk; he had a gentle smile on his face as he peered at the other man.

“What– what in the world are you doing here?” the Captain insisted. He suddenly longed for his swagger stick so that he might show Pat the exit– until he reminded himself that his hands were shaking too badly to do such a thing anyway, and he suddenly could not meet Pat’s gaze. The Captain wondered, momentarily, if Pat could also hear the thumping of his heart against his chest over the rain’s violent onslaught on the windows.

“Funny, that.” Pat crawled beneath the desk, now, and sat beside the Captain, whose eyes remained fixed on his knees. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” When the Captain said nothing, Pat remarked, “It’s a nice little hiding spot–”

“I am _not_ hiding!” the Captain interrupted. Unfortunately, another lightning strike and a crash of thunder showed Pat that his bark was far worse than his bite.

Pat wasn’t looking at him, at least– he wasn’t studying him outright or attempting to solve the puzzle of when the fearless leader had become an utter coward. Nevertheless, the Captain would have liked nothing more than to become more invisible than even a ghost.

“This one’s pretty bad,” Pat commented at last. “Haven’t seen one this bad since ‘87. Took down a whole tree outside– well, you’ve seen the one.”

The Captain gritted his teeth at the small talk. “You can speak in simple terms.”

Pat did look at him, now. “Simple terms?”

“Never seen anything so ludicrous in your life, eh?” he encouraged bitterly, frustration growing when he could not control the trembling of his hands. “A military officer, cowering beneath a desk? What need is there for that during a little rain? If I can see the ridiculousness in it all, then surely you can, as well. What a stupid thing to do.”

The storm was directly overhead. The following strike of lightning seemed to come from inside the house, and with it, a clap of thunder so ferocious that the lights flickered, then went out, then flickered back on. 

The Captain let out a shout that was drowned out by the thunder. He covered his own head with one arm and Pat’s with another. This time, he was sure that the eggs would have them buried in rubble.

Pat’s voice came to him above his harsh breathing. Panic was one hell of an adrenaline rush, as he knew all too well.

“It’s only thunder and lightning, Cap, I promise. It’s a storm, that’s all. Yeah?”

The Captain straightened up from the ball he had curled himself into, half expecting to open his eyes to one of the London Underground stations, families packed in beside him. His chest was heaving, and convincing himself of his own safety wasn’t quite cutting it this time. He felt, almost, that he was hanging in between two spaces of reality that bombarded him for his attention. He was yanked away, and then back again when he heard Pat speak again.

“It’s nearly over. It’s just passing overheard now.”

The storm. Yes, of course it was. Just passing overhead. _As storms are wont to do,_ he thought.

There was the tentative touch of a hand on his arm. “You’re looking a little green around the gills, mate,” Pat fretted. “Don’t you worry, there’ll be crickets chirping out there in a little while. The earth’s just taking a little refresher.”

The Captain shut his eyes tightly at the next lightning bolt washed out the inky blackness of the rain-streaked window and the thunder boomed outside.

“See? That one was a bit quieter.”

The Captain couldn’t be bothered to listen as tried to calm himself, ignoring whatever Pat was going on about. Focusing on his breathing was so very difficult, especially when he couldn’t shake the idea of German planes overhead Button House.

“Captain?”

“What is it that you want from me?” the Captain barked. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to gawk at me like an imbecile?”

Pat shied away a little, retracting his hand but still finding his voice, soft as it was. “Just wanted to check in and make sure we’re together, here. Do...you know what year it is?”

What a ridiculous question! “It’s nineteen–” Ah, he cursed himself again for how predictable he was. He shut his eyes once more in embarrassment, head lowered.

“It is...the year two thousand and nineteen,” he corrected himself, at a much lower volume. This was to be the first time he had acknowledged this and felt relief.

Pat waited for the inevitable lightning and thunder combo to rear its ugly head once again before speaking up, this time with more confidence. “You know, I had a scout once who was the same way. Last name was Crawley, I think– or maybe Croydon. Something like that. He was the same age as my boy, as a matter of fact. He could pitch a tent like nobody’s business, but would shut himself up inside it if there was even a hint of rain.”

“That sounds highly illogical,” the Captain muttered; he was not only referring to the boy, of course.

Pat shrugged. “Maybe,” he supposed. “I always told my scouts that it was important to learn to survive in less than ideal conditions. But to him, it was a matter of safety. He wanted to keep himself and the rest of us all safe.” He rested his hand on the Captain’s arm. “Self-preservation is one of the most natural instincts humans have. It’s good to listen to that part of ourselves, sometimes.”

The Captain cleared his throat. “And what about that boy of yours, the scout? Was this fear conquered at any point?”

“Oh, I don’t really know,” Pat said. “Maybe by now, he has. But what I _do_ know is that he was never alone when it stormed.”

The Captain now met Pat’s eye, a little surprise in his eyes at the turn in the story.

“There was never a day when it rained that I wasn’t missing one or two extra scouts on the hikes,” Pat continued. “He was so lucky to always have a couple of friends stay behind with him. Because even if it does seem ridiculous, or illogical, there were always people who cared about him willing to make sure he was doing alright.” He shook his head with a wistful little smile. “Such a nice group of boys, y’know.”

The rain only pattered against the windows, now; a faint rumble informed them that the storm had moved on to bother someone else.

“Sounds like it’s just about finished up!” Pat announced with a nod, and removed his hand from the other’s arm. “I can scoot on out, if you like.”

“Pat.” The Captain stopped him before he could move too far. “I do...well, I...” He cleared his throat. “I would very much...like to hear more about this troop of yours, if you do have the time. They seem to have been a very fine group of boys.”

He felt his chest loosen and his heart warm significantly when Pat beamed at him and settled back into his spot underneath the desk. Any indication that there had even been a storm was gone, besides the rain that still tapped on the roof and windows.

“They most certainly were! They had some real gusto. Have I ever told you about the fishing trips I took them on?”

If he had, the Captain had tuned him out before Pat would have had the chance to actually tell it anytime before. “I believe I heard talks about such activities before you...well, joined us, but I can't remember ever been told them in good detail.”

Pat patted him on his knee, both of which were still tucked up against the Captain’s chest in a claustrophobic saving of space and limbs. “Well then, relax and lend an ear! I’ll spin you a nice yarn, my treat!”

Though not without a bit of uncertainty, the Captain allowed his legs to slide down until they rested on the floor straight ahead of him. Both his and Pat’s stuck out from underneath the desk, free from danger.

Neither of them knew for certain when it was that the rain tapered off, only that it had quickly become a pleasant stream of noise behind each of them sharing story after story, each one following the other and never failing to keep some kind of smile on their lips.

They remained there well into the night, with the crickets sounding off in peaceful tunes all around.


End file.
